Ex Libris Lyoko
by SilverPrince
Summary: We don't know much about the past of the characters. So I am filling in the blanks, writing backstories for Ulrich, Odd, Jeremie, Yumi, Aelita, Franz Hopper, William and Sissi. They are complete speculation, fiction, based on what we do actually do know.
1. Franz Hopper

October 22nd, 1939. World War II has not reached America. In fact, it had barely started in Europe. The new German Chancellor, a man by the name of Adolf Hitler has just started his campaign for the Aryan "master race" to rule Europe and the world, by breaking international law and invading the nation of Poland a few months previosuly. West of that nation is the neutral nation of Switzerland, known for knives, watches, and chocolate. Though the nation did not know it, a child was being born that would one day invent time travel and artificial intelligence and start a project that would secretly change the world.

"Push, Mrs. Hopper, Push!" The doctor stood in front of an auburn haired woman whose face was contorted in pain and covered in sweat. A brown haired man stood next to her, his face also painful, but that was only because his hand was being squeezed to death. The woman was breathing fast and gave one great push, and the sound of a crying newborn was heard. Mrs. Hopper soon joined in the crying, her eyes welling with tears of joy and relief. "What will you name this child?" The doctor asked, holding it upside down and spanking it. The woman thought for a moment and said "Franz." The man nodded. "I like that. Someday, people all over the world will know the name Franz Hopper."

Dr. Daniel Hopper did not know that his words would be so true. He assumed his child would be smart because he himself was rather smart, a college professor at the University of Bern. He taught geometry, and was one of the more respected teachers at the school. He was considered almost a genius in mathematics, ever since he was young. Born in England, he skipped the last two years of attending a prestigious Swiss high school to go to college, but not before he met the love of his life, Frieda, who was now holding her newborn child.

As little Franz grew up, it was apparent that he had the intelligence of his father, he was walking by his first birthday. However, by then the Axis was practically surrounding the tiny nation of Switzerland, so the Hoppers decided to pack up, sell their house and leave the country, fearful that tiny, neutral Switzerland could be the Reich's next target. They decided to move to the close, stronger country of France. It was the most unintelligent decision of Daniel Hopper's life. They had just left a large house in safe Switzerland to a cramped apartment in Paris, and within a few months, France was defeated and Paris was under Nazi control.

However, one of the happiest days of the Hopper family's life was June 6th, 1944; D-Day, the Allied invasion of Normandy. By that August, Paris and all of western France had been liberated, and the Hoppers could live freely again. Franz would start his second year of school- having started at age 4- and all would be well. And they did live very well until 1949.

Franz was ten, and came home from school one day to find his mother screaming at his father, both in tears. Next to Dr. Hopper was a blonde woman who Franz had always thought was a close friend and colleague from the University of Paris where his father worked. She was wearing skimpy clothing and his father was in nothing more than a bathrobe. Franz was young but got the point- his father had been having an affair.

There was a divorce and Frieda Hopper- now returning to her maiden name of Müller- received full custody. Dr. Hopper and his new fiancée Jeanne kept the apartment, so Franz and Frieda moved into Frieda's brother's house, just south of Paris in a town called Boulogne-Billancourt. Uncle Jonas was a lawyer, and lived in a big house on the river. He had a wife named Jacqueline and a child on the way. Jacqueline was a teacher at a very good private school in the city called Kadic Academy. Thanks to payments from Dr. Hopper and the generosity of his aunt and uncle, that is where Franz would go to school.

Franz stayed at the school as a boarder, making a few friends and excelling in academia. He was a little shy and although some people thought him weird as "the brown haired Swiss boy with big glasses" he wasn't necessarily hated. The teachers loved him; he was intelligent and even humorous at times. In his last year at Kadic, ninth grade, he met the woman who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Her name was Antea.

Antea DuPont was a beautiful woman, tall, thin, and she always had a smile on her face. She was intelligent, always enjoying a good discussion about such things as physics with Franz. She was also interested on the new, relatively unknown science of mechanical computing. She had an unusual hair color- bubble gum pink- and she asserted that her hair color was natural. She, too, lived in Boulogne and had divorced parents. Franz loved her with all his heart and she loved him.

All through high school they went out, many guys asking Franz how he got such a beautiful woman. His reply was always the same: a shrug. On Franz's eighteenth birthday, January 22nd, 1957, he spent every single penny he could to purchase a diamond ring and gave it to her on one knee at his birthday dinner. She accepted.

They were married after their first year of college, Franz majoring in Physics and Education and Antea majoring in Chemistry, and even managed to find a program about her obscure hobby, computing. At the wedding, two important things happened. One, Franz and Antea said "I do" and were married. The date was June 6th, 1958, on the anniversary of D-Day to celebrate the beginning of their married lives and the beginning of the end of World War II. Two, Dr. Hopper and Freida Müller met and made up for their misgivings, as it seemed that Jeanne had left Daniel for a Spanish woman. It truly was the happiest day of Franz's life.

Antea left school after the standard four years and found a job in a pharmaceutical laboratory. Franz continued to go to school, hoping to get a PhD like his father, his life-long goal. In 1964, that dream became a reality. Antea had earned enough money so they could move from the busy Parisian suburb, so they moved to a home in the French Alps, similar to Franz's first home that he didn't remember. Franz began working as a high school teacher, while working on equations at home. For a decade, the two lived together in the mountains, Antea with her medications research and Franz with his physics equations. The two wanted to have children, but as scientists they were very busy.

It was now the seventies, and computing was finally evolving the point of recognition. Antea discovered that a university near where they lived was going to be building a computer. She jumped at the opportunity to help, and was hired. Although the family now worked with less money, as Franz was a teacher, they managed. Franz wasn't necessarily interested in the big clunky machines, but he had to admit they were intriguing.

In 1976, Franz decided to come to visit his wife at work. She was the head of the team at the computer lab, and showed Franz that her computer could process even physics problems and evaluate them. Very intrigued, Franz ran home and showed Antea his massive equation, the one he had been working on. The computer could take months to process it, but Franz was very happy to have help. In two months, the computer not only processed Franz's equation but provided the answer that he had been trying to find for 12 years. It gave both Antea and Franz moderate attention in the scientific community. Franz began to work with computers as well, Antea being a better teacher of computers than Franz was in physics.

Later that month, two agents in suits came knocking on Franz's door. They said they represented a government project so secret not even the President knew nothing about it. It was called "Project Carthage" and was an attempt to disrupt Soviet communications using computer sciences. They wanted Franz, now an expert in computers and physics, to be its civilian leader. It was not a request.

Franz told Antea that he had been offered a job in Paris and he had accepted. When Antea asked how he would get there, he said the train, and that luckily it didn't start until after noon, so there would be plenty of time to get there. In reality, he took the train to an airport and a helicopter from there to an old factory in Paris, near his aunt, uncle, and mother's old house. He left at six in the morning and got to Paris at nine, and from then until five PM, he would work on this Project Carthage, the leader of its civilian team.

There were about two dozen or so civilians on the team, all experts in computers or other relevant fields. There were also five military officers and the two government agents. While Franz lead the civilians, the actual leader was Commander W. Schaffer. They all worked on trying to use a network of computers across Europe to disrupt Soviet communications, with different methods as time went on. By the early eighties, the Cold War was just starting to wane, and there was a new American president, Ronald Reagan. However, in 1982, something happened that would change Franz's life forever. Antea gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, the child they had always wanted. They decided to name the little girl Aelita.

Franz was now juggling Project Carthage and his baby daughter. Luckily, the military officers were the ones truly in charge and were family men, understanding of Franz's plight. He would work from nine until two, but with a decrease in pay. Franz didn't necessarily mind, as the salary was still wonderful, the equivalent of 120,000 per year.

Aelita was a very cute girl, with pink hair like her mother's and stunning emerald green eyes like her father's. She had been born in July, and her personality seemed to emulate the season she was born in, she was bright and warm. Antea was incredibly happy; she had always wanted a daughter. She was also pleased that Franz was such a dedicated father, loving, caring and even willing to take a pay decrease. Her job was becoming both easier and more complicated, as computers decreased in size and could hold more data, but the use of them became more complicated with different, complex components. She was a very happy woman, and would be so for four years, as would Franz and little Aelita.

However, one rainy night, Antea was driving home from a late night at work. She was on a busy highway and there was a semi-truck next to her. At it seemed, the highway construction budget was low that year, and there was a rather large pothole in the road in front of the semi. The driver, slightly drunk, violently swerved to avoid it and slid on the road. The truck flipped over onto its side- on top of Antea. She felt no pain, it was all over for her in an instant.

Franz was very nervous and pacing in his living room, his wife was three hours late. Aelita was still awake, patiently waiting for mommy to get home to give her a good-night kiss. Franz heard a knocking on the door and opened it. "Antea?" He asked, but instead saw two police officers, who had their heads bowed. "Mr. Hopper, your wife's care was found on the highway flattened by an overturned semi. We… are very sorry for your loss." It was at that point that Franz burst into tears. "Mommy?" Aelita asked, but saw only her crying father and solemn police officers. She understood and hugged her father tightly, crying with him.

Franz could no longer bear to live in the home he had shared with his wife for 22 years out of their 28 year marriage. With Aelita, he moved back to the town of Boulogne-Billancourt. He found a job at his old school and built a new house in the forest, calling the house "The Hermitage". He was now much closer to his job, which was beginning to get very complicated. The Internet was just beginning to be released on the public scene, although Project Carthage had many computers across Europe, even in the Soviet Bloc, that had been exchanging data for years, and even blocking electrical communications by overriding the wires they used, a moderate success. However, this Internet could completely circumvent Project Carthage's hard work, the entire international project that had cost billions of dollars and had employed hundreds of people across the globe. The military commanders decided to create designs for a massive main node computer for the network that could possibly trace communications all across this Internet, but the plans were abandoned.

Over the next few years, the Cold war began to wane more and more. In 1991, the Soviet Union collapsed, and it was all over. Franz, however, was horrified to discover that Project Carthage planned to continue, even though Russia was no longer an enemy. It was that day that Franz decided to end the project once and for all, before Project Carthage was discovered and caused an actual war, now that it was the actual aggressor.

Franz found the old plans for the main processing node and decided to work on them. Below the lab, Franz began to build it, saying that it could further the project. The commanders, now corrupt, were fooled and financed it fully. In three years, he had finished it, the Carthage Main Processing Node, otherwise known simply the Supercomputer. Franz mistakenly programmed it with the electrical overriding system of the other computers, but decides to leave it in, not worried that it could be corrupted.

One summer day, Franz Hopper wakes up. It was the 50th anniversary of D-Day, June 6th, 1994. He went to work, his students restless for the very close last-day-of-school, including his own daughter. He arrives home and plays the piano until his daughter gets home. They have dinner and she went up to her room and Franz went to his laboratory. It was his final testing day for the Carthage Main Processing Node, and while running a scan, discovers that he has inadvertently invented a device, an impossible device, a device that can rewind time itself.

For the next 2,546 days, Franz works, destroying the remnants of Project Carthage by corrupting the aging computers with viruses of his own design, spread on the network from the Main Node, the Supercomputer. However, one aspect remained, the core programming installed in the Supercomputer itself, a manifestation in the memory core. Franz creates Lyoko, a virtual world in the memory core to hopefully override the manifestation, but the virtual codes simply merge, making Carthage part of Lyoko itself. Temporarily giving up, and losing his sanity day by day, Franz redesigns Lyoko to be a paradise for him and his daughter where he and Aelita can be the absolute rulers. Then, in a last ditch effort, he finds an old virus and installs it in the Supercomputer, unaware that it becomes more and more powerful, eventually reaching sentience. XANA was born. All of this, approximately seven years, happened in the actual time span of one day: June 6th, 1994.

On the 2,546th June 6th, after work, Franz hears his daughter confirm his paranoid suspicions. "Daddy, the Men in Black are here." Knowing that they would all along, Franz says "I know." They flee to his laboratory and Franz starts up the process to take him and his daughter to Lyoko. "Where are we going?" Aelita asks, confusingly stepping into a scanner. "To a world where you and I can be safe. Forever. See you in a minute, honey." "See you in a minute, daddy."

You know the rest of the story.


	2. Elisabeth Delmas

February 28th, 1992. Jean-Pierre Delmas was in his classroom at the prestigious Kadic Academy when the school secretary walked in, looking frantic. "Mr. Delmas, I have just received a phone call. Your wife is in labor." His eyes widened and he grabbed his suit coat, putting it on. "Students, history class is dismissed, you may leave," he said hurriedly and ran out to his car, an old, small, rusty American car and quickly drove to the hospital with no word to the staff. He was sure the secretary would understand, or at least hoped she would.

Jean-Pierre rushed to the front desk of the hospital and asked what room Sonia Delmas was in. The very bored woman gave him a room number and returned to her magazine. Still running, he found the room and saw his wife, being prepared for giving birth, already doing the breathing exercises. Even like this, Jean-Pierre thought his wife was beautiful. Long raven black hair, sapphire-blue eyes, soft, elegant skin, and normally she wore fashionable clothes and a warm smile, but today they were replaced with a hospital paper gown and a face of pain. He walked over and grabbed her hand tightly and smiled, she managed a smile back and concentrated on giving birth.

A few hours later, after much screaming, pushing and hand-squeezing, Elisabeth Delmas was born. She was a beautiful baby; she looked just like her mother, even after just being born. Jean-Pierre and Sonia couldn't be happier.

As little Elisabeth grew up, she proved to not only be a beautiful baby but a rather smart one as well. Like her mother, she had an impeccable sense of fashion. Her first words were to her mother: "Blue's not your color". For that, Elisabeth got ice cream. However, although she could tell you which dress from Milan to buy, she never really could pronounce Elisabeth. It always came out something like "Sissi". So, from that point onward, Elisabeth Delmas was Sissi, unless she was in trouble.

When Sissi was five, she started school. She picked out a beautiful pink dress and had her hair in a bun and wore a silver bracelet given to her by her mother. She wanted to wear some of her mother's make-up, but Sonia politely refused. Many of the people in the school commented on how beautiful the little girl was, and Sissi was eating it all up. It was one of the happiest days of her life, and when she got to her classroom she became even happier. There was a boy sitting next to her, wearing green, with brown hair and tiny eyebrows. He looked strong, but had a smile on his face. "Hi! My name's Ulrich Stern. I like your hair." Sissi giggled. She really liked this boy, even during the time when girls thought boys had cooties and vice versa. Grade school relationships are confusing, and Sissi's was no exception. Like many grade-school kids do when they like someone, they act like they hate them. So Sissi punched Ulrich in the face. Ulrich burst into tears while Sissi smirked; assuming Ulrich was playing hard-to-get, which she had heard her mother talk about. However, the teacher came over and told Sissi to sit in the corner for five minutes. From that point onward, Sissi Delmas loved Ulrich Stern, but he hated her and she was oblivious.

Sissi was very much a mama's girl. She loved her mother very much and was always very nice to her, always did what she said, and was always rewarded. She wasn't necessarily spoiled, but her mother made sure that she was recognized for doing good things, which is something Sonia Delmas wanted her daughter to do for all her life. Sonia also taught her daughter about how to be a proper lady, manners, and such. There were also life-lessons about fashion, as Sonia was a fashion designer. Sonia was a wonderful mother, always making sure her child grew up right. Speaking of children, one day Sonia and Jean-Pierre had an announcement for Sissi.

"Sissi, I don't know exactly how to tell you this," Sonia began, "But you have a new brother or sister on the way!" Sissi was very excited, she wanted a new sister to teach about clothes and boys and all kinds of things. However, after a few months, it was discovered that the baby would be a boy. Though disappointed, Sissi decided that she could be a good older sister even to a brother.

Nine months later, Sonia was very pregnant and being wheeled into the hospital. Jean-Pierre and Sissi were right behind her, Sissi pushing the wheelchair. "How strong you are, Sissi," Sonia said with a smile. When she reached the maternity ward, the doctor told her "Mrs. Delmas, your baby is larger than normal; I recommend that you have a C-section." However, she shook her head. "I will be birthing Sebastian naturally, and with no painkillers, either. That's the way God intended and the way I intend. Sissi turned out just fine." The doctor was obviously concerned, but nodded his head. "Alright, Mrs. Delmas."

Hours later, it was obvious that something was going wrong. The EKG machine, otherwise known as the-heart-rate-machine-that-beeps, was beeping very fast, and Mrs. Delmas was in even more excruciating pain that most mothers. She beckoned her husband and daughter over. "Jean-Pierre, Sissi, the Lord is calling me home. I can feel it." Jean-Pierre was in tears, and he was shaking his head. "No! You and our son Sebastian can live! Sonia, Sissi and Sebastian, remember? That's the way you wanted it, and you can still have it! You must let try to live, I can't lose you!" He began to cry, holding on to his wife's hand. "Doctor, can't you do an emergency C-section?" He shook his head, saying "The baby is too far down the uterine canal, which is already ripped… f-fatally." Sissi was crying too. "Mommy, don't die! I need you! Daddy needs you! Your work needs you! We all need you, you can't die! What about my baby brother?" Mrs. Delmas smiled and said "Elisabeth Delmas, you listen to me. The Lord says I am going home and that is final. You may not be as religious as I am but you must accept this as God's will. Sebastian will live, the Lord won't take my baby. But he is taking me. Sissi, be strong. For your father, for your brother, and for me."

Most women would be screaming in horrible pain at this moment, but Sonia Delmas was seemingly calm as ever, smiling at her family and whispering a prayer. The doctor was even at the point of tears, his eyes sparking as he saw the head of the child emerge, soaked in blood. "Please, Lord, don't take my wife. Please," was all Jean-Pierre could say, over and over. As soon as baby Sebastian Delmas was born, the EKG of his mother began to slow. Soon, there was only one, solid beep. Sonia Delmas was dead.

"Sonia Rebecca Delmas. Time of death, 1157 Hours, April 3rd, 1998. Cause of death, rip of uterine canal and massive hemorrhaging," was the coroner's summarized report. He stood next to the silent body, as Jean-Pierre held his son and Sissi cried quietly. The doctors and nurses bowed their heads in respect. It seemed that even the newborns were solemn, not fussing or even cooing, picking up the silence of the room. Even the heavens themselves were mourning, it had started to rain.

From that day onward, Sissi was different. No longer was she the happy, polite, courteous ball of sunshine, she was a loud, sassy, rude, cynical girl. No longer having a female support figure, she depended on her father- who began to spoil her to relieve her grief- and her friends at school. However, she began to form a clique, and with her attitude and money became very popular. She only really had two friends, boys that she had met named Nicolas and Hervé. Otherwise, her friends were fake, just wanting to be in on the popularity that was empty to Sissi.

However, Sissi also began to attend church more often. Her mother's solid faith, even on her deathbed, seemed to have inspired her. She became an avid church-goer, even convincing her father to attend services. She even went to Bible study classes, but she never told any of her "friends" about her religion. In fact, she never said anything about her personal life any more. Most people didn't even know she had a baby brother. 

A few years later, Jean-Pierre had been promoted to the principal of Kadic, and was making plans for her daughter to attend once she was old enough. He, too, had changed. Once, he was a kind and lenient educator, now he was strict and somewhat cold. In his own words, he was "magnanimous". He seemed to spoil his daughter, giving her whatever she wanted, yet at other times he barely paid attention to her. He was in a state of conflict inside; although the services he was attending were have some effect. He was sure about one thing, he would remain faithful to his beloved Sonia and never remarry or find love again. He figured his daughter and son would be enough.

Sebastian Delmas never knew his mother, but was always told wonderful things about her by his father. He grew up just fine with a solid father figure; Jean-Pierre could teach him all the life lessons he would need. He could easily raise a son, but not as easily a daughter. Sissi realized this and was jealous. He saw his father and brother get along perfectly together, while he didn't even know what to do with her half the time. Sissi knew her father was by no means a bad father; he was just being a better father to Sebastian. Sissi hated Sebastian more than anyone else. He was so happy; he never had to lose a parent. He had everything he wanted and was content; while Sissi had everything she wanted but was empty. Sebastian had a father but Sissi had no mother. Sissi was always especially mean to her brother, because of her inner jealousy and even hatred. Her meanness even spread to her school life. However, she was a rather popular girl, no one really paid attention to another mean popular girl. The problem was, however, was that inside, Sissi wanted people to pay attention to her. Someone consistent, someone who would at least realize that she was a human being who needed companionship all the time, not just spoiling her one day and ignoring her the next. She never told anyone about that, either.

More years passed, Sissi grew colder and colder. She was known was one of the meanest girls in the school. The one person she tried _not _to be mean to was her beloved Ulrich. She tried to be nice, tried to be sweet. She just didn't know how to any more. They were in their first year at Kadic, and Ulrich was sitting on the bench no one sat on near the park. It was his "spot", a place he could go and think. However he couldn't think very well that day. "Ulrich! Hello!" Sissi called out, waving. Ulrich groaned and rolled his eyes. "Ulrich sweetie! I… found these flowers lying around, and I thought you'd like them! Bring some color to all that green you wear." Ulrich sneezed a few times, his eyes watering. "Get those things away from me! I'm allergic! My gosh, can't you _leave me alone_! You are _the_ most annoying person I have ever met! Your father isn't like this, so what the heck is wrong with your _mother_?" Sissi dropped the flowers and burst into tears. "My m-mother is dead! B-but nothing was ever wrong w-with her!" She ran away, bawling. All eyes were on Ulrich, who looked very surprised. "Uh… sorry?" But Sissi never heard him; her father had walked over to her.

Sissi thought this was the worst day of her life and couldn't possibly get any worse. But her father had another message. He was crying, too. "Sissi… your brother was at the day-care when he ran outside in the street to get a ball that had gone too far and… and… the truck couldn't stop in time… he's gone." You would think Sissi wouldn't be sad, but Sissi is full of surprises. She cried even harder. "Why does God taking everyone away from me? WHY?"

Sissi wasn't in school the next week, from grief and helping prepare for the funeral. She refused to go to church that Sunday, or any other Sunday for that matter. "I don't want to worship a God that kills everyone." Jean-Pierre didn't want to argue, he figured Sissi was grieving in her own way. For the second time in six years, Sissi went to a funeral for an immediate family member. Sissi didn't know why she was so sad, she hated her brother. But she was incredibly sad, and hoped some good news would come along soon.

The next day when she went to school, all her "friends" immediately half-heartedly comforted her, except for Nicolas and Hervé, who actually did try to help her. Hervé even brought flowers for her. For a small moment in her life, Sissi had real friends, not minions or people wanting to be popular. She hugged them both, to the joy of Hervé. However, the happiness would soon end. Sissi found out that a girl had moved from Japan in the week she was gone, and Ulrich seemed to be talking to her a lot. She didn't know a whole lot of English, so Ulrich was offering to teach her. It made Sissi sick, having to compete over Ulrich. _I will have him. I will go out with him someday. I swear it._ Sissi swore to herself.

Two years passed. Sissi was still just as mean, and like many mean girls, decided to join the cheerleading team. She had tryouts that day. She was happy to find Ulrich walking over to her. "Sissi. I have something to show you." He motioned to the park. She nodded, confused, and followed him as he led her to a sewer opening.

You know the rest of the story.


	3. Odd Della Robbia

Andrielle DuPont was the younger of two sisters, born and raised in France, had beautiful blue eyes, a beautiful smile, and purple hair. It was completely natural, in fact her whole family was known for odd hair colors. She was also nine months pregnant. As she lay in the hospital bed, she mentally noted the lack of a man to hold her hand. The father of her child was… well, he and Andrielle had met one night at the bar and one thing had led to another. She never got his number to tell him he was a father. She thought it best to just forget about him, she wasn't the type to hold a grudge.

She had always been very artistic, bubbly, and happy. Her sister had been very left brained, but Andy was very right. No one could hate Andy, it was simply physically impossible. She was hardly ever sad; the only time she had ever really cried was six years previously, at the death of her sister. And so now, on September 30th, 1992, her doctor walked in and said it was time to push.

After much screaming and crying, with one great push, the child was born. The doctor picked him up and smacked him, and he began to cry, which is a good thing in this case. He had a face like his mothers, and a single, purple hair. "What will his name be?" The doctor asked. "Odd DuPont," she said, gasping. The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Pardon, did you say 'Odd'?" The woman nodded. "It's Norse. It means 'Tip of the Arrow'." The doctor shrugged and wrote the name down. "Well, baby Odd seems very healthy. A little scrawny though." Andy smirked and said "He's not scrawny, he's svelte."

After a few days, mother and son went home, to Andy's small apartment. She shared it with her best friend, Martha. "Oh, look at him, he's so cute!" She said, smiling. Andy smiled and nodded. "Oh, someone called earlier. Some man named Jeff," Martha added. The name rang a bell. "Jeff? Hmmm. I'll call him." She picked up the phone and dialed the number on the Caller ID. "Hello?" Andy took a deep breath. "Jeff? It's Andy. You remember me?" There was a pause. "Yeah, Andy, with the hair. Someone told me you were pregnant." Andy paused this time. "Yes. He has to be yours." There was some kind of half laugh-half scoff on the other end of the line. "I can't deal with this. I can't. You weren't supposed to be anything more than one night. Listen, Andy. I'll send you a check or something."

"I don't _need _a check! What I _need_ is a father for my baby!" Andy said, in tears. "Well, you ain't gonna find one here, babe. Check's in the mail." There was a click and the line went dead. She sat on the couch and for the second time in her adult life, she cried.

A few days later, Andy received a check for $1,000. It was in American Dollars, not in francs. "Figures, he's _American_," Martha spat. Back to her old self, Andy said "Well, it's a lot of money, and that's always a good thing. I wouldn't care if it were Dollars or francs or Vietnamese dongs." "Vietnamese whats?" "Dongs, Martha, dongs. It's what they call their currency. At any rate, money is money."

That money, in dollars and not dongs, along with welfare checks, made sure that Odd grew up happily. As he grew, Andy was happy to see that her son was just as bubbly and artistic as she was. He loved to color, and Andy was happy to let him as long as it wasn't on the walls. ("If it was my house and not Martha's apartment, I would let you", she said.) He loved animals, too. When they went on walks in the park he would always chase after the ducks. And he even looked like his mother, except for his hair. It was blonde, with the exception of one purple splotch in the middle. Andy loved it, and she loved Odd. By the time Odd was two, mother and son were inseparable, and she saw no need for a father.

Martha, on the other hand, thought otherwise. So one day, she arranged for a friend of hers, recently back from a tour of duty in the French Army, to meet Andy on one of her walks in the park with Odd. So when Andy was sitting on a bench, her son chasing and feeding the ducks, a tall man with buzzed short brown hair and a strong, chiseled face sat down next to her, smiling. "He's cute," he said with a chuckle. Before she knew what she was saying, Andy replied "You too." She covered her mouth, blushing and giggling. "Thanks, ma'am." "Oh, it's Andrielle. Andrielle DuPont. Call me Andy." "Brock Della Robbia," the man replied. "Tell me, could you get a babysitter? I'd like to get to know you a little more." Andy chuckled. "I could call my friend…"

Martha, for some reason, was happier than usual to watch Odd. So Brock and Andy went to a Parisian café, while Martha drew pictures with Odd. They left around noon, and weren't back until 8. Andy opened the door, giggling as Brock blew her a kiss and walked away. She ran over to Odd and gave him a big hug. She then looked up at Martha and said "You set this up, didn't you?" She shrugged. "Well, it just so happened that Brock is a good friend of mine, and that he just happened to be single." "Well, thanks. He's wonderful… such a kind man, and strong. I think he could be a father to Odd, and he seems to like the idea."

And apparently Brock did like the idea, because a year later, on July 7th, 1995, Andrielle DuPont became Andrielle DuPont-Della Robbia. At his mother's request, Odd also took the last name Della Robbia. After Brock and Andy went on their honeymoon to Italy, the new family moved to Brock's house in Paris. Odd had a backyard to play in, and his own bedroom. He was promptly instructed by his mother to color on the walls. Brock looked like he was about to say something, but an elbow in the ribs took care of that.

Two years passed. Odd grew older, Brock and Andy grew closer. Odd never referred to his step-father as "Brock" but simply "Dad", as he had never actually met his father, and didn't really care to. Odd entered Kindergarten, and his teacher and classmates loved him and his antics. They were one happy family, until Brock received the news that he was being called out for duty again, a standard two-year tour of duty. Odd would go through first and second grade without a father.

The third time Andy cried was when a bus came to pick up Brock. His hair recently shaven, he walked outside in a uniform and beret and after giving his wife and son a hug and kiss, he boarded the bus. Like many soldiers before him, he watched from his window until he could no longer see them.

Odd was what one would call a "class clown", always making jokes, always doing something funny. And in art class, or music, he was always the star student. However, he wasn't too keen on learning about history, science wasn't fun unless the chemicals did cool things, and he was horrible in math. Overall, he managed to keep a C average. His mother didn't really mind, as long as he wasn't failing and he was happy.

And Odd was indeed very happy, especially one day in Second grade when Odd's teacher walked over and said "Someone's here to see you." She pointed to the door and there standing was Brock Della Robbia, with a huge grin on his face. He was still wearing his uniform, it was clear he hadn't even been home yet, it was Odd he went to see first. "Dad!" Odd cried, and ran over to him, hugging him tightly. Brock returned the favor and picked him up. "I hope you don't mind if I borrow Odd for the rest of the day, but I haven't seen him in two years. We've got a lot of catching up to do." The teacher, who was smiling, said "By all means, go. And he's lucky, he gets to miss math."

After a few hours of solid talking, mostly Odd, the family was all caught up. "The best news is that two years of shooting people gets great pay. I was talking with some buddies of mine on the ride home, and I think a private school would be a good thing for Odd. Better teachers, maybe he'll do better in math, and if it's a boarding school, we won't have to deal with him so much." He chuckled and ruffled Odd's hair. "I don't know about right now, but there's a very good school in that town you're from, Andy, for sixth grade and up. It's called Kadic Academy. The place costs a small fortune but it'll be worth it. With my military pay and whatever it is you do, we should have enough for full tutition by the time he's old enough." Andy nodded. "Great idea. Now who wants lunch?" Odd's eyes lit up. The one thing he loved more than coloring was food.

A few more years passed. Odd was now in fourth grade, and he was on a four year streak of C averages. He came home one day to find his mother and father in the room with some blonde guy, and none of them looked too happy. "What's going on?" Odd asked, setting his bag down. His mother said, trying but failing to sound normal, "Odd, this is Jeff Johannes. He's your real father." Odd looked blank, he didn't know how to react. Eventually, he said "And where have you been?" "That's what I said," mumbled Brock. Jeff spoke up. "Well… I just couldn't deal with being a father before… but you know, I've been thinking about this for a long time, and I came here to see if I could help. Maybe… be an uncle or something."

Odd paused. His normal happiness was replaced by an eerie seriousness. "No. You're not my father. You're some man who looks like me and knew my mother for one night. You haven't helped her, you haven't contacted her, and you barely know who she is. Now get out of her house. I have a father." Brock grinned, and Andy stood up. "Well, that settles it. Mr. Johannes, get out of this house. Maybe if you need help later I'll send you a check." Jeff's jaw dropped and he said a few expletives and left. "Odd, first thing, I have never loved you more. You are awesome. Secondly, if you ever say those words I will take away your crayons. Now come here and hug me. How was school?" In a single statement, Andy had completely changed the subject and somehow made it clear that Jeff was not to be brought up again. Odd ran over and did exactly that.

Odd finished that grade, and the next still holding on to his C streak. Secretly, Brock thought Odd could do better than that if he focused, but he never said anything, preferring to follow his wife's method. Honestly, in his and in his wife's opinion, Odd never did much wrong anyway. He was shaping up to be an artistic genius; they had once given a painting of his to a Children's art exhibit at the Louvre, and someone had actually offered to buy it. Odd preferred it stay in the museum. He also loved to use his dad's camcorder, making his first serious movie just before fifth grade. He was still no whiz at math though, and history still put him to sleep.

Fifth and Sixth grades were like any normal grade for Odd. He joked, he slept, and he painted. His teachers laughed at his jokes and frowned at his test scores. However, Odd made a friend that year that would stick with him for the rest of his life. He was walking home one day, snacking on some fruit he had saved from lunch when he heard a bark from behind him. There was a small dog following him; it looked like some kind of terrier. He had no collar, and he looked underfed. "Must be a stray," Odd mumbled with his mouth full. Ignoring the dog at first, he continued home, only to hear the pitter-patter of dog paws behind him. He turned around, patted the dog's head, and offered an apple. The dog refused. "All I have left is this," Odd said, offering the dog a kiwi. The dog yipped happily and took it, but still followed Odd home. "Well fine. I guess I'll take you home to mom."

"Oh, wonderful, wonderful!" Mom said happily, petting the dog. "Are you sure?" Brock asked, looking at him. "Yes. What's his name, Odd?" Odd thought. "Kiwi," he said. Andy shrugged, saying "I like it." From then on, Odd and Kiwi were the best of friends. Kiwi slept in one of Odd's drawers; they took walks every day together after school, and Kiwi even ate his math homework once. He even brought him to school on pet day. Odd liked Kiwi because he was funny, but not too smart, like Odd.

Odd finished sixth grade with a C, just like every other year. After his last day, his mother and father spoke to him. "Odd, you may not remember, but your mother and I have been saving up money for a long time for you to go to a boarding school. We think it'll be better for you, a better education. Maybe you'll get a B one of these days," Brock said with a chuckle. Andy glared. "What do you think?" She asked. "Can I take Kiwi with me?" Brock opened his mouth, but Andy spoke first. "Only if you don't get caught."

And so, on his first day of seventh grade, Odd had hid Kiwi in his duffel bag. He stepped off the bus and bumped into some guy wearing a red sweater. "My name's Jim. Welcome to Kadic."

You know the rest of the story.


	4. William Dunbar

Miranda Dunbar was definitely not going to push her baby out of anywhere in her body. "The whole 'push' thing is not for me, doc, cut him out," she told the doctor. He nodded, and the last thing Miranda remembered was being put to sleep, holding her husband's hand.

When she awoke, the doctor was holding, a small, crying infant with jet black hair. "His name?" The doctor asked. "William Lucas Dunbar," she said, smiling. The doctor nodded. "William Dunbar. Born 3:28 PM, April 21st, 1991. Six pounds, three ounces." He wrote that all down and handed the child to his mother. "He looks like you," his father James said. Miranda smiled. "I suppose he does."

A few days later, baby William got to go home. That home was a rather large one in Paris. James Dunbar was the head of a large technological company, making computers and cellular phones and such. Miranda worked as a real estate agent. Combined, they were fairly well off. As such, they were also usually very busy. William was left in the care of the "babysitter" who was basically a nanny. Her name was Alejandra, but most just called her Ally. William called her Nana for some reason.

Whatever you want to call her, William and Nana were the best of friends. They played together, they ate together, and when William took his nap, so too did Nana. Young William was a strong child, both in muscle and in willpower. If William wanted to do something, William would keep trying until he got to do it. Unless Nana said no; William couldn't argue with Nana.

By the time young William Lucas was one, he already had a vocabulary of a dozen words, and he knew which shape peg went in which hole. It would seem that William was a very smart young boy. Nana always made sure they watched the educational shows. Mr. Rodgers' was a favorite of William's, and Sesame Street. His parents couldn't be happier of the way their son was growing up.

One night, after William was asleep, Miranda, James and Nana Ally were talking. "I'll tell you what, if he's this smart now, wait until school. I don't think he should do anywhere near public schools," his father said. Ally nodded. "Such a smart boy. We wouldn't want him to be ignored in the public school system." "I know of some good schools in the area. There's one that even has preschool. We can have him privatized all the way up through high school," Miranda said. "Then it is settled. William will go only to private schools?" Ally said. They all nodded. A prodigy like theirs would certainly not last in government funded schools.

A few years passed, and it most were sure that William was a prodigy. He was four, and he could already count to one hundred (and unfortunately, he did so a lot), he could add and subtract; he could name you several European capitals and a few of the States of the United States. (Ohio was his favorite to say) They considered sending him to school a year early, but with Nana's advice they decided against it. "Prodigy or not, William is a child. And he deserves all the chances he can get to be a child." His parents were swayed by her logic, and decided William could wait until he was five.

After a while, William wanted more people to play with than just Nana. And, like most times, he got what he wanted. New neighbors moved in to the house next door, they had a son named Phillip, who was about William's age. Phillip's and William's parents came to meet each other, while their children had a little play date.

"So… what do you like to do?" William asked. "You play soccer?" Phillip asked. William shrugged. "Sometimes." "Do you want to?" Another shrug. "Sure." Though their friendship started off rather blandly, they would soon become the best of friends. William grew to love Soccer, and the American music that Phillip liked to listen to. Their friendship gave Nana time to get the naps she needed- she wasn't getting any younger.

After one of their games on one-on-one soccer, William noticed the street lights were on. "I have to go home," William said sadly. Phillip nodded, and the friends walked the few meters to William's house. They walked inside; Nana was watching the six o'clock news. "Bye, Phil," William said, waving. Phillip waved too, and then he leaned in and gave William a kiss on the cheek. William pulled away. "Wha… what'd you do that for?" Phillip shrugged. "I saw it on The Godfather. Italians always kiss each other to say things." He chuckled, and William shrugged. "OK, bye," he said quietly. As Phillip left, William felt dizzy. There was a tingly feeling in his chest, like when he was nervous, and he was light-headed. Nana walked over to him and patted him on the back and spoke in a low, serious voice. "William, I want to tell you something. If anyone, ever, makes fun of you because you're… really good friends with another boy, just ignore them. Say nothing and continue on your way. They are just jealous of your friendship. Remember that, always, OK?" William nodded. "Now how about dinner. Chicken nuggets are always good," she said, changing the mood. "Yeah they are!"

From then on, whenever William saw Phillip, he got that tingly feeling. He didn't know what it was, and he ignored it most of the time. Apparently Phillip had forgotten all about it, and the Godfather, and the kiss thing never happened again. But William never forgot it, it was important for some reason.

Soon, the summer began to come to a close. The two boys would begin school soon. William assumed they would be going to the same place, but Phillip had some bad news. He came over one day, very upset. "William… my daddy says we have to move. He's being stationed somewhere else. We won't be able to play together anymore." William had another strange feeling- his stomach sank, it felt as if he was dead inside. "No…" he said, really quietly. "You can't leave… you're my best friend!" Phillip just started to cry, and William did, too. They hugged each other and cried until Phillip's mother cried out "Phil! We've got to go!" Phillip wiped his face and kissed William's cheek again. "Bye." William sat down at that very spot and did not move until he fell asleep. William didn't know it, but he had just had his heart broken.

William never really would forget Phillip, but now he had something bigger to focus on- school. He would be entering Kindergarten, and he was pretty scared. This meant no more playing soccer all day, or watching TV with Nana or anything fun. It meant work and being smart. To be honest, William didn't like all the attention he got over being so smart. It's not like it was anything special that he knew more than other people did. It would all even out eventually.

After starting school, William realized that it was boring. He knew all the stuff they were teaching. The teachers ate it all up, and his classmates were amazed, but William was just bored. He could already say the alphabet and count to twenty. They considered bumping him up a grade, but his parents said something about "though William is smart enough to be a first grader, we don't know if more than just his brain is ready." They were again, acting on the advice of Nana Ally, who was quite the child raiser.

Not to say that William's own parents didn't raise him. William loved his parents, and they loved him. They were just gone a lot. Often times James would make it a point to play soccer with his son, or at least watch the games on TV with him. And though his mother couldn't cook like Nana could, she did make great macaroni and cheese.

The years passed. William eventually came to accept that school was boring, and realized that most other kids thought so, too. By the time he had reached the fifth grade, he had a whole clique of friends who didn't particularly enjoy school. Some of them, like William, just weren't challenged enough, even in a private school, where the exact opposite is supposed to be true. Others just didn't like school, and preferred to listen to Walkmans in class.

William was listening to a favorite song of his when the teacher yelled audibly enough to be heard over the headphones hidden in William's shaggy, raven black hair "_Mr. Dunbar!_" "Yes?" William asked, taking off the headphones. "First, keep them off, or I take them. Secondly, care to tell me when the French Revolution took place? You haven't been listening so you probably don't know-" "It was 1789-1799," he said flatly. His teacher was quiet. William smirked and put his headphones on again, and his teacher said nothing.

That is until about an hour later when she tapped him on the shoulder. William glared, but she looked serious and concerned. "William… your mother is here. Apparently there has been a family emergency." William stood up and walked out, meeting his mother in the office. "What's going on?" He asked. His mother walked over to him and held him close. "William… Nana is gone. She was napping at her house and… she didn't wake up. She's passed away, William. There was no pain, she simply slipped away. She's in a better place, remember that."

William didn't say anything. He simply held his mother tight and cried. He went home that day, and didn't go back to school the rest of the week. He spent most of the time on his bed, crying. She was gone. Nana, the woman who had always been there, the woman who was always so nice, who could do anything, who made sure William was never unhappy, was gone. He was happy that Nana was happy, in a place where she didn't have arthritis or have to nap all the time, but William wanted Nana here, with him. But it didn't work like that. The day she was buried, William didn't cry. His tears were all gone by then. All he did was stare at her grave marker-

"Alejandra Sonia Luís-Maya

May 19th, 1924- October 3rd, 2001

Beloved Mother, Sister, Grandmother and Nana"

William was forever changed by her loss. He seemed to have lost the will to be as smart as he really was. His grades slipped, he gave up paying attention, it seemed like he forgot everything he had known. It even seemed to age him- William was a ten year-old with the temperament of an angsty teenager. His teacher took notice, recommending therapy for the young child. Desperate to have their happy, smart son back, they tried it. However, all it did was waste money and make him worse.

The years passed, and William gradually evolved into a new person. When he was done moping and grieving, he became the strong person he once was, but he was darker, in a way. He had a more pessimistic, pragmatic look on life. He still loved music, it made him feel happy. Somehow, rock made him the happiest; he didn't quite know how that worked. After a while, he ceased to mope and grieve at all, he was just a less smiley person.

In eighth grade, William was sitting on a bench, listening to music and staring blankly at the outline of the Eiffel Tower when someone sat next to him. "Someone told me you're the smart one around here," the boy said. "Supposed to be," said William with a shrug. "What's it to you?" He turned to face the boy sitting next to him. He was tall; he had blonde, shaggy hair like the people in the American movies about surfing, and strikingly blue eyes. He was slightly tanned, and he was thin, but muscularly slow. William felt a strange feeling in the put of his stomach and was reminded of his old friend Phil for some reason. "Well, I'm new here, and I was wondering if you could help me catch up. You Frenchmen are a bit ahead of American schools. One of the teachers recommended me to you, saying you were really smart but didn't show it, or something. But can you help me?"

Before he knew what he was doing, his face broke into a grin and he said "Sure, no problem, uh…?" "Taylor. Taylor Zimmerman," the American said. "William Dunbar," said William, and the two went up to Taylor's dorm to discuss what they had been learning recently. During the little study sessions they had, William couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be staring at him, and thinking thoughts about how soft his hair looked, or how his eyes seemed to sparkle when he smiled.

William also got the suspicion that Taylor knew that William couldn't take his eyes off him. His suspicions were confirmed on the last of their study sessions. "William, for the past five days, you simply have _not _stopped staring at me. Is there something you want to tell me?" William paused for a moment, but before he could think any more, he simply started talking. "Taylor, every time I look at you I get dizzy and there are butterflies in my stomach. I want to stroke your hair or just stare at your smile, or just hold you and be with you forever and ever. I don't know why, I didn't even know I liked boys like this, but I love you Taylor Zimmerman. Love at first sight."

Taylor was quiet for a moment, and William was scared to death that he had just lost a new friend. But Taylor then said quietly "Really? I think the same about you." They both blushed. Again, acting completely impulsively, William turned Taylor's head so they were face to face, leaned in and kissed the American on the lips. The two remained there for what seemed like forever, all of William's sadness and stress and teenage angst melting away like butter in the core of the sun, replaced by burning, happy passion. The two pulled apart. "Taylor, I don't know why, but I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. I don't get it. I've had crushes on girls before; I've dated and even kissed them… I've even loved a few, but nothing ever like this."

"That's because love is all about the person on the inside, not the outside. It's possible for anyone to love anyone else. What's between my legs shouldn't really matter at all in the whole equation of love," Taylor said, blushing and smiling. "Such a philosopher," William said, and leaned in for another kiss.

Over the next few months, the love between the two blossomed. It eventually got out that William and "that new kid" were "gay for each other". William remembered the words of his Nana, finally understanding what she had meant, and ignored them. They were jealous, those rumor-spreaders. Near the end of the school year, Taylor and William were in the prime of their relationship. They were brave enough to hold hands in public.

After one particularly passionate night, William decided that his love simply could not be contained. He wrote a letter, a love letter declaring all of his love for Taylor, in a sort of poem, and had it copied. The following morning, he plastered them all over the grounds. The teachers were not pleased. "Mr. Dunbar, this is a prestigious institution. We will not be affiliated with the kind of… lifestyle you appear to lead. After the end of this year, you will not be returning to this school. Good day," the Headmaster told him.

So William was expelled from his school. Luckily, his mother knew of another, nearby private school where he could attend. It was decided that William would A) not be allowed to see Taylor again, and B) attend Kadic Academy for ninth grade.

You know the rest of the story.


	5. Aelita Hopper

Franz Hopper ran through the halls of the hospital, out of breath, just home from work. He stopped at a desk and asked "Antea… Hopper… what room…" between gasps. The receptionist looked at her list. "Room 4-22, on the 4th floor, third on your left from the elevator." He ran off, then turned and puffed "Thanks," and ran off again. The receptionist chuckled. "Maybe I'll have a man running to see me like that someday."

Franz opened the door and walked in, wheezing and gasping. He was getting a little old, but that was OK. Everything was OK now because his wife was there, and she was holding the cutest child he had ever seen. There were a few strands of pink hair on her head, and her eyes were a stunning electric green, like her father's. "Oh… I missed it," Franz said sadly, sitting in a chair to catch his breath. Antea chuckled. "It's best you did. I had a c-section anyway… probably not too pretty." Franz smiled. His wife could make the best out of any situation. "Her name is Aelita Renée Hopper," she said, smiling. "Beautiful," Franz said, walking over to see her. Little Aelita saw her reflection in her daddy's glasses and made a sort of giggle noise. Franz chuckled. "Daddy's little girl…"

Aelita was born on July 19th, 1982, in the middle of the Parisian summer. Just like the season she was born in, she was bright and happy. "She reminds me of my sister," Antea said once, with a chuckle. However, most of the time, Aelita was a child all her own. She was always giggling, she almost always behaved, and she was very smart, walking long before other kids around her age. "She takes after you," Antea said once. Franz, ever modest, just chuckled.

One day, when Aelita was a little over one, Antea was making dinner when the sound of a car coming up their driveway was heard. "Daddy's home from work, Aelita!" She said, a grin forming on her face. "Work bad," Aelita said as Franz walked in. "That's right, Aelita, work is bad- wait a minute! Franz, she spoke!" Antea said, now even happier! "Her first words!" She ran over and hugged her daughter, then her husband. Franz smiled. "That's my girl." Antea went back to making dinner, currently cutting vegetables for a salad. "How was work, by the way? What is it that you do, again?" Franz was silent for a minute, and then shrugged. "Work was fine. And I told you what I do, dear; I'm a program tester for a company in Paris." Antea nodded. "Ah, that's right… Anyway, we're having salad and then hamburgers for dinner. Except for Aelita. She gets peas." The parents chuckled, while Aelita didn't seem too happy.

A couple of years later, Aelita was three and it was Christmas time. "Oh, Franz, I was in the store the other day and I found the _cutest_ little elf doll!" Antea said, showing Franz a doll with pointed ears and greenish-black hair. Franz smiled. "She'll love it," he said. Antea put it in a boxand wrapped it, then said "Shoo, you. I'm wrapping your things next." With a chuckle, Franz kissed her and left.

The next week, Christmas came, the whole family sitting around the tree. "You go first, Aelita," Antea said, grinning. Aelita smiled and opened the present. Inside was a little elf doll. Aelita's eyes lit up and she grinned from ear to ear. "Oh, I love it, thank you!" She said, giving each parent a hug. "What should I call him?" She asked. Franz thought. "How about… Mr. Pück? It means Goblin," Franz suggested. Aelita nodded. "Your turn, Franz," Antea said, handing him a gift. Franz chuckled and opened it. Inside was a picture frame, and the picture was of Antea, Franz, Aelita and Aelita's "Mr. Snow", the Snowman. Franz grinned. "I remember that… you had a devil of a time getting that timer set up…" He hugged his wife and set the picture on the table by his chair, grinning.

Another year passed. Aelita grew up a little, Franz grew grayer a little, and Antea grew happier. However, that would all end, one autumn night. Antea was driving home on a rainy evening. There was a large semi next to her, and it made her uneasy for some reason, it never had before. As it would seem, the budget for road repair was low that year, and there was a pothole in front of the semi. The drunken driver swerved to avoid it, and slipped on the slick road, flipping over on its side, flattening Antea in an instant. Her last thought was of her daughter. 

Meanwhile, Aelita was still awake, waiting for her mommy to kiss her good night. She was getting tired, until she heard her dad crying. Aelita assumed they were tears of joy, she knew Daddy had been worried. She walked out, saying "Mommy?" But there was no Mommy, only Daddy on his knees, crying, and two very sad looking police men. Aelita ran over to her father and cried, knowing what had happened. The police men shut the door and walked away, and the two Hoppers cried together.

Soon after that, they sold their home in the Alps and moved to a suburb of Paris, Boulogne-Billancourt. With the money from their house and his salary, Franz had a smaller house built in the forest, close to a school, where Franz got a job. His work with Project Carthage- the "company in Paris" he had told his wife about- was winding down anyway, with the waning of the Cold War. Aelita turned five and entered school the next year, and she was the star pupil. Her father was very proud of her, and he was sure that her mother was, too. Aelita missed her mother very much, and laid flowers on her grave on the anniversary of her death every year.

Aelita and her father became very close in the years after the death of Antea. He taught her how to play the piano, telling her it was "like math", Aelita's best subject. Sometimes they took walks through the forest near that surrounded their home, The Hermitage. Franz would talk about how the plants worked, and about the animals, and Aelita would talk about what had happened in school that day.

On one such walk, Aelita was eight, and talking about what had happened in science class that day. "And my friend Marco was too afraid to watch when Madam Lyons dissected the sheep eye, but-" Aelita and Franz stopped. In the path in front of them, there was a wolf. It looked lost and a little underfed. Aelita clutched her father tightly. "D-don't worry, Aelita, it's just going on its' way. It won't hurt us." The wolf sniffed in their general direction, then continued on, not hungry enough to attack people. "Can we go home, daddy?" Aelita asked, still very scared. Franz patted his daughter's back. "Yes. I'll show you that song you wanted to learn."

From that point on, Aelita had a paralyzing fear of wolves. Sometimes, she would even have nightmares. The only thing that made her nightmares go away was her beloved Mr. Pück. With him in her arms when she slept, all was well. She didn't know why, perhaps it was the memory of her mother. Perhaps it was because he had elven magic. She didn't know, but Mr. Pück always made it all better. Her father seemed to think he was important as well, for he always made sure Mr. Pück was kept safe. He never explained why, and Aelita didn't dwell on the subject- Daddy could act weird sometimes.

A few years later, at age 11, Aelita entered the sixth grade, at the prestigious junior high where her father worked. Aelita made a few friends, including a very musical one named Christopher. Her favorite class was that of her father's- science. She had always loved science, and with her father it was even better. Her favorite parts were when he made a mistake on the board, and she had to correct him. After which, Franz would correct it, then say "Thank you, Aelita, and you're grounded." It was their little joke.

As a Christmas present that year, Aelita received a bicycle from some aunt of hers, on her mother's side. An odd gift to get in the winter, Aelita thought, but she loved it all the same. It was much easier than walking to school every day, and allowed her to get around easier when she wanted to go places. Once the snow melted for the first time, Aelita decided to go on a bike ride. With a warning from her father to watch for traffic, and an odd one about avoiding the River Seine, Aelita put on a jacket and was on her merry way.

Of course, being an 11 year old, she couldn't resist but ride along the river, and besides, it was beautiful, the wind in her hair, and looking at her reflection in the water. She rode as far as she could until she reached the end of the road, which was at the old Renault factory. Stopping to catch her breath, she noticed that on the bridge, there was a very familiar car. It was her father's American import car, a sleek-looking, gas-guzzling SUV, once white but in need of a wash. She recognized it from the "You can't scare me, I'm a teacher" bumper sticker. Just as she was about to go and get a closer look, she thought she heard footsteps. She sped off on her bike, not wanting to get in trouble, or kidnapped or something.

She quickly returned home, and started practicing the piano for some reason. A few minutes later, her father walked in. "Hi, daddy!" She said happily, stopping and giving him a big hug. Franz smiled and hugged his daughter tightly, and she felt him relax for a moment. But then he was back to his tense self and he said, somewhat sharply, "Aelita, did you ride near the Seine like I told you not to?" Aelita shook her head. "I rode through the forest to Kadic and back," she said. "And then started playing the piano." She could tell that her father was confused. She heard him mumble something along the lines of "I thought I saw… pink… like Antea…" But then he smiled and said "How about dinner?" Sometimes, her father confused Aelita.

Aelita was sure not to go back to the old Renault factory, although she always wondered what her father had been doing at some abandoned factory when he was supposed to be at his second job- he said it was "something with computers". "He gets out at work around then anyway…" she told herself "Maybe he was there for… getting computer stuff…" Eventually, she stopped thinking about it, because there was no point. Her father was simply too mysterious.

Spring passed, and then summer. Aelita went on plenty of bike rides, but the walks with her father seemed to decrease. Aelita tried to tell herself that it was just because she was older, and he wanted her to be more independent, but she could tell that her father was different. With each passing day, it seemed he grew more and more… mysterious. And even paranoid. By the time she was back in school for seventh grade, some days she only saw her father at school. And even then, he seemed to be distant and colder. The days of "Thank you, Aelita, and you're grounded" seemed to be gone. Aelita did not want to lose her father, so she confronted him one day about it.

"Daddy, why are you so… distant now?" Aelita asked him one day. Franz froze for a moment, then knelt down and looked at his daughter. "Aelita… I'm so sorry… I just…" He stopped, and Aelita could see tears rolling down from under his thick glasses. Aelita hugged her father, and they held each other for a long time, until Franz said "How about some dinner? I'll order pizza." Aelita smiled and nodded. Franz walked away, and she heard him grumble "That damn project… we need to get away…"

The school year passed along normally. Aelita could tell her father was making an effort on being… normal again, but it was a slow process. In fact, he was now staying longer at his weekend second job. He just said it was to augment his teacher's money, but Aelita had a lingering suspicion there was more to it. Either way, as the school year drew to a close, her father was pretty much as paranoid and strange as ever. When other people asked, Aelita always said "Geniuses are always crazy," and chuckled.

Aelita woke up one morning, and it was like every other morning. She woke up to the radio DJ telling her it was the 50th anniversary of D-Day, June 6th, 1994. Aelita loved DJs; she wanted to be one someday, deep in her heart. She took a shower, brushed her teeth and got dressed, then rode to school with her father and had breakfast there, just like every other day. Only two things were out of the ordinary: the unshakeable feeling of Déjà vu that she had had since she had gotten up, and that there was some new kid at the school for the day.

In science class, her father seemed crazier than usual- like his insanity had ballooned overnight. He was paranoid to the extreme, his gaze almost always locked on the windows outside or on Aelita. Eventually he just told them all to read the textbook and sat at his desk, staring out of the window like his life depended on it.

After that period, Franz went home, earlier than usual. Aelita continued her day, a little scared for her father. After the school day was over, she walked home. The paranoia seemed to be spreading; she felt like she was being watched, and she swore she heard wolves growling. She walked inside to her father playing the piano, more absorbed in it than usual. "Hello, Daddy," she said, with no answer. She shrugged and said "I'm going up to my room."

She went upstairs, took off her backpack and lay down on her bed, until she heard tires screeching and doors slamming. She looked outside, and there were two men in suits outside. "Daddy!" She yelled downstairs. "Men in black are here!" It seemed like this is what her father had been worried about, because he said "I know." He grabbed Aelita's hand, asked her if she knew where Mr. Pück was, and then led her downstairs. He jammed the door with a plank of wood, and then took her to the backyard, then through a doorway to a tunnel to the sewers.

Too confused to say anything, she simply followed her father until they reached a ladder. They climbed up and Aelita found herself on the very bridge she had seen her father's car on a year previously. She followed him down some stairs in the factory to an elevator. The doors opened too a room of green metal with a strange computer and a holographic globe of some sort. "Where are we?" "My laboratory," he said as he typed something on his computer. He led her again down a ladder to a room with three golden tubes. He stepped in one, and she in another, following his lead. "Where are we going?" She asked, confused. "To a world where you and I can be safe. Forever. See you in a minute, honey." As the doors shut on both tubes, Aelita said "See you in a minute, daddy."

You know the rest of the story.


	6. Jeremie Belpois

The young woman walked up the steps, flanked by her mother and father and holding a basket with a sleeping infant inside

The young woman walked up the steps, flanked by her mother and father and holding a basket with a sleeping infant inside. Together, they walked into the building and up to the receptionist. "Welcome to the public Orphanage. How may I help you?" She asked, looking up.

"My 15 year old daughter cannot care for her child. We have no home for a baby, so we have come here," the father said.

The receptionist pulled out some paperwork. "The mother's name, age, and place of birth?"

"Anita Sinclair, 15, Paris," the young woman said.

"Such a pretty young woman... how could such a thing like this happen?" She said, filling things out.

"I… I was raped," Anita said quietly.

"I'm very sorry," replied the receptionist. "Your son is beautiful. He has your beautiful blonde hair, even at his age. And your eyes, as well. His age?"

"Three weeks," Anita said. "And thank you. I hope they aren't my eyes, I'm terribly nearsighted," she said with a slight smile.

"I suppose, then, you don't know the father's name?" The receptionist asked.

"I do… I thought I knew him… he was my best friend," she said quietly again. "But it doesn't matter. Don't put him in the files. He doesn't deserve to be listed as a father of anything," Anita said.

The receptionist continued to ask questions of Anita and her parents. "Such a beautiful child," she kept saying.

"What is your name?" Anita asked.

"Jacqueline. Jacqueline Belpois," the receptionist said. "I've always wanted a child… but I can't. I… I feel your pain, Anita. At about your age, someone tried to rape me as well. I resisted, but…" Jacqueline placed her hands on her abdomen. "He had a knife."

The two women gazed at each other for a moment, and then both gazed at the sleeping infant. They broke into smiles. "Something tells me my son will find a wonderful home," Anita said.

"Will you excuse me? I need to call my husband," Jacqueline said.

Weeks later, Jacqueline Belpois and her husband Michael signed the final adoption paper. "What should we name him?" Jacqueline asked.

"How about… Jeremie? Jeremie Michael Belpois." Mr. Belpois recommended.

"I like it. A beautiful name," she replied. "For such a beautiful baby. I think our son is going to be… wonderful. A miracle."

"I think so too, Jackie. Now let's take our little miracle home. Our little Jeremie."

The elated couple took their new son home, tears rolling down Jackie's face the whole way home. The two lived in a small house in the suburb of Boulogne-Billancourt, France. They put Jeremie to bed in the crib they had just bought, and then Michael sat his wife down in the living room.

"Well, Jackie. Now we need to decide a few things. If he asks if he was adopted, are we going to tell him? Are we going to keep it a secret at all? Are we going to have contact with his birth mother?"

"We don't have to tell him right off. But if he ever asks, we will tell him. And if he doesn't ask by… his 13th birthday, we tell him anyway. If he ever wants to meet his true mother, we can't stop him, but I think the poor girl shouldn't see him all the time, she has enough to deal with as it is," Jackie said. Michael nodded.

"Well… we're parents now. This means no more wild parties," Michael said sarcastically.

"I've wanted a child for a very long time. And now we have one, Mike. We have a healthy, normal young child," Jackie said, tears coming to her eyes. "This is the beginning of the greatest time of our lives."

As the years went on, Mike and Jackie realized that their baby was very healthy, but perhaps not so normal. As Mike put it "I don't think normal two year olds can hold actual conversations with people. Or count to twenty." Young Jeremie Michael was a prodigy.

By the time he was four, he could count to two hundred and name most of the European capitals. He could add and subtract and was already reading the book that the local first graders were also reading. "My friend Allie, she's a sort of nanny, I guess, she takes care of a very smart young boy. She says to make sure Jeremie stays out of public schools."

"Jackie, we're second class, working citizens. A child who has a nanny can go to private schools, but do you think we can really afford to pay his way through all of his school career?" Michael said.

"Well… things will be tight. One of us could get a second job. We might have to move. But I want our son to be as successful as possible. We simply cannot let his mind go to waste! For crying out loud, Mike, he's four years old and he can spell _screwdriver_. And that's not even a French word!"

Michael finally caved in to his wife's demands. They moved from their home to an apartment and Michael got a second job as a worker on an auto assembly line. Often times, they had to leave Jeremie at a day care.

The fall after Jeremie's fifth birthday saw his entrance into the prestigious Sophie Neveu Academy, a private school for young students. Though Jeremie didn't fit in too well, he did work hard. His teachers noted his hard work and his abidance of the rules, but worried that he didn't communicate enough with the other students.

Jeremie excelled in all of his classes, except for anything involving physical activity. He didn't enjoy team sports, and often tried to get out of any required physical education activity. So one day, he was sent home with a note from the PE teacher.

"Mommy, this is a note from one of my teachers," he said when he got home.

Jackie took the note and read it. "Your PE teacher says you don't participate, and that you don't even talk to the other children. Why?"

"They don't like me. And I guess… I just don't want to talk to them," Jeremie said.

"They don't like you? What do you mean?" His mother asked.

"They say I'm poor, and that my glasses are dumb. Are we poor, Mommy?" Jeremie asked.

"Well… those children are very rich. We aren't so rich," Jackie explained.

"How come you and daddy don't need glasses? And why do you have different hair colors?" Jeremie asked.

"I need to call this teacher, Jeremie," his mother replied. "And then I'll get dinner started." Jeremie nodded and Jackie grabbed the phone.

"Hello, is this the Neveu Academy PE teacher?" Jackie asked.

"Yes. Who is calling?" A man replied.

"This is Jacqueline Belpois, Jeremie is my son. You sent him home with a note today, asking me to call you?"

"Ah yes. I'm worried about your son. As I understand, he is a prodigy in all of his other classes, yet he is distant and quiet in my class, and does not participate," he said.

"He says the other children are unkind to him at times. And he's never been much of a mover," she said.

"I see. Well, here at Neveu, we try to give each child the attention they need. But we can only do so much. You must encourage your son to talk to people more, and to get active. He will be much happier this way. And I will be speaking with his classmates," he said.

"I will try, sir. Have a good day," she said.

"You as well." He hung up.

She turned to Jeremie. "What would you like for dinner?" But he was focused on the TV. A soccer game between two local colleges was on. Jeremie's eyes were fixed on a young blonde woman, her hair in a ponytail.

"She looks like me, mommy," Jeremie said. "Oh, and I want… spaghetti."

Jackie was quiet for a moment, then said "Alright. Spaghetti it is." She turned and looked at the name on her jersey- "A. Sinclair".

That night, after Jeremie was asleep and when Michael got home, Anita told him "Mike… he's been asking questions. He wanted to know why we didn't have glasses or blonde hair. And his biological mother was on TV today, she plays soccer. Should we… should we tell him?"

"They're just innocent questions, Jackie. Don't think too much of them," Michael said.

"But Mike, he's such a smart boy. This'll stay in his head for a long time, and he'll think about and think about it until he has an answer," Jackie said.

Mike was quiet for a long time, and then he said "Alright. Tomorrow, after school, we'll tell him."

The next day, Jeremie came home to both of his parents sitting on the sofa. "Hi, mommy! Hi, daddy! You're usually at work," he said, giving his father a hug.

"Jeremie… yesterday, your mother said that you wanted to know why we don't have hair like you, or glasses?" Michael said. "Do you still want to know?" Jeremie nodded.

"Well… before I answer… you know that your mother and I love you with all of our hearts, right? And we will never, ever stop loving you," his father continued.

"I know. I love you too," Jeremie said, and smiled happily.

"Well… Jeremie… we have different hair and eyes than you because… because you're adopted," Jackie said. "We adopted you from your birth mother when you were a very small baby."

Jeremie got very quiet, and his happy smile faded. "You're… you're not really my mommy and daddy?" He asked in a hushed voice after a silence.

"Sure we are! We are your parents! You were just born with someone else," Michael said.

"Why didn't they want me? Why did they give me up?" Jeremie asked. He began to cry.

Jackie walked over and sat down in front of Jeremie, and held his hand. "Because she was very young, your mother. She went through a hard time and she was too young to be a mommy. She wanted to make sure that you had the best life you could have, and she couldn't give that kind of life to you. And… I… I can't have any children, because I got hurt badly when I was young. But your father and I wanted a baby so much… and we met your birth mother and we adopted you."

"Your birth mother loved you very much, and she knew that we loved you very much and that we could give you a better life," Mike said, also getting down and sitting with Jeremie.

"But we're poor! How is that better?" Jeremie asked.

"Jeremie, you are a very, very smart boy. You are a little genius. And your father and I want to make sure that you stay that way, and be smart forever. And so… we spend extra money to send you to very good schools. And your birth mother was… she was just 15 years old. She wouldn't have had any money to raise you with," Jackie said.

"We work so hard for you, Jeremie. We want you to be happy. That's all mommy and I want, is for you to be a happy little boy. We t-try so much, Jeremie, and we love you. So very much," his father said, as he started to cry. Jeremie hugged his father and started to cry as well. Soon his mother joined in and the Belpois family cried together.

Months passed, and Jeremie grew to accept that he was adopted. He never stopped loving his parents, and he never did get the hang of PE either. Though he eventually did start to actually participate, he was never very good at the class. It was always his least favorite.

Years passed. Jeremie grew smarter and smarter. By the time he was seven, he was already long dividing. By nine, he had won the Paris Citywide Spelling Bee. At ten, he was correcting his math teacher so much that he retired halfway through the year. At eleven, he knew more English than the English teacher, albeit the English teacher was only fit to teach at a fifth grade level.

By sixth grade, Jeremie was well known to be one of the smartest kids in the school. He had a small group of friends who were also very smart. At lunch one day, the topic somehow switched to sports.

"Do any of you watch soccer? I was watching it yesterday, and there was this amazing player. She was from Paris, too. Anita something, I think her name was. She had blonde hair… a little like yours, Jeremie. Anyway, she scored this goal and it was awesome," Jeremie's friend Jean-Claude said.

"No… I don't watch soccer, not usually… what did you say her name was again?" Jeremie asked.

"Anita. Anita… Sinclair! That's it, Anita Sinclair," said Jean-Claude.

That day, when Jeremie got home, he asked his mother "Mom, who is my birth mother?"

Jackie was quiet for a moment. "Her name is Anita, why?"

"Because apparently there's this soccer player, Anita Sinclair, and my friend says she looked kinda like me," Jeremie said. "Can't I meet my re- er, my birth mother?"

Jackie was quiet again. "Well… I'll see what I can do, Jeremie."

That evening, Jackie pulled out a phonebook and tried to find the number. After three calls, she finally found her. "Hello, is this Anita Sinclair, the soccer player?"

"Uh… yeah. Who is this?" Said Anita.

"Well, I don't know if you remember me… but my name is Jacqueline Belpois. We met about twelve years ago," Jackie said.

There was a sharp gasp on the other end of the line. "You're the woman I… I gave my son to. What can I do for you?"

"Anita, I have someone here who wants to meet you. His name is Jeremie," said Jackie.

"I… uh… I don't know what I would say… or what to do… I…" She was quiet for a few moments, and then said "Give me your address. I'll be there tomorrow."

The next day, when Jeremie got home, there was a soccer player sitting on the couch, along with his parents. Anita stood up slowly. "Hi, Jeremie. I… I'm Anita, and I'm your birth mother."

Jeremie walked over slowly and looked at her. She had glasses just like he did, and eyes just like his behind them. Her hair was blonde and in a ponytail, and she had a beautiful smile. "Hi," he said eventually.

The two walked up to each other and looked at each other silently, until they both spontaneously went to hug each other. "I'm so glad to finally meet you, Jeremie. I've always wondered what you would look like, what you would be like. I've always wondered where you were and what you liked to do. I think about you so much," Anita said.

"Me too," Jeremie said, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Me too."

They pulled away. "I got you some things," Anita said. "I heard you were very smart, so I got you this," she said, handing him a rolled up piece of paper.

Jeremie unrolled it and smiled. "It's a poster of Albert Einstein!" He said happily. "That's so cool! Thank you," he said.

"Oh, and I got you this, too. It wasn't until I got home that I realized it would be way, way too big," she said, handing him a blue sweater. "Wear it when it gets cold, and maybe you'll grow into it later," she said with a smile.

"I will," Jeremie said. "Blue is my favorite color, anyway."

The whole family went out for ice cream, and then Anita had to part ways with the Belpoises. "I had such a wonderful time, and I'm so glad to finally meet you," she said to Jeremie. "If you ever want to, feel free to call me."

Jeremie went through the rest of sixth grade like he had every other year, top of the class, with a low grade in PE. The next year, he was enrolled in the very prestigious Kadic Academy.

There, he developed a love for robotics. All of seventh grade year he made plans to build robots. For his thirteenth birthday, he received a state-of-the-art computer from Anita. He proudly put it in the front of his room, and his poster of Einstein was next to his bed. He didn't make too many friends that year, but his computer and robots kept him occupied.

But it was the next year when his love for robotics would really change his life forever. It was October 8th, he was wearing the blue turtleneck, and he finally had some prototypes built. However, he needed more parts, and he decided to go scrounging in an old abandoned factory.

You know the rest of the story.


	7. Ulrich Stern

It was August 24th, 1992, and it was an unseasonably cold morning. Bridgette Legard-Stern was getting ready for a caesarian section. "Are you ready?" Her husband Ulrich asked.

"As I'll ever be," she said. The doctors informed Mr. Stern that he needed to leave as they were about to begin the operation.

A few hours later, he was brought back in. His wife was holding a small little boy. "What shall his name be?" A doctor asked.

"Ulrich Stern," the child's father said proudly. "Ulrich Stern, Jr."

Ulrich Stern, Sr. had a lot of ideas for his new son. His own father had emigrated from Germany to France with nothing except a pregnant wife and two small suitcases of possessions to flee the Nazi regime. They then had to live in Nazi-controlled France on a war-torn continent. He never managed to live the life he truly wanted to, and even Ulrich Sr. himself grew up in a poor home and had to educate himself. He had worked his way to the top, and wanted his son to reach the top as well. As Ulrich Sr. saw it, his son had inherited a lot of potential, and he wanted to make sure that his son used every drop of it.

Mrs. Stern, on the other hand, didn't have such astronomical expectations for her son. Like most mothers, she simply wanted her son to be happy and safe. She had always loved children, and she thought she was very good at keeping them happy and safe. She ran the day care center at the building where Mr. Stern worked- he was the Vice President of Marketing for the Renault auto company.

Because his parents were often busy, Mrs. Stern often took her son to the daycare where she worked. As he grew, she noticed two things. One, Ulrich was usually a solitary child, he didn't often play with the others. Unless of course, it was soccer, which was the second thing Mrs. Stern noticed about Ulrich- he simply could not get enough soccer. He absolutely loved the sport, and Mr. Stern saw potential.

To milk Ulrich's penchant for soccer as much as possible, Ulrich Senior had him enrolled in peewee soccer teams before he started school, he hired "soccer tutors" and demanded that Ulrich play no less than two hours of soccer per day. Naturally, like any 5 year old would, Ulrich began to grow bored with the sport. So Ulrich Senior sat Ulrich Junior down and had a little chat.

"Listen, son. I know you might feel like you've been run a little ragged with all this soccer, but it is very important," he said. "You have to realize how important it is."

"But it's supposed to be fun, dad! Soccer is supposed to be about fun," Ulrich said.

"There are more important things in life than _fun_, Ulrich. And for you, soccer is one of them. It is your gift, Ulrich, and you shouldn't waste it, you should _use _it as best you can," Mr. Stern said. "It isn't going to be easy, but if you do it right you can end up as the biggest soccer star on the planet."

"I don't wanna play soccer as a job, or for forever! It's supposed to be something to do for fun. Or esker… exer… exercise," said Ulrich, struggling on the last word.

"And you need to practice your language skills, too. You won't succeed in life if you can't speak. You need to _focus _more Ulrich. You need to work as hard as you can on _everything_. You need to reach the top, because if you don't seize your opportunities now, you'll lose them forever."

"Am I supposed to be perfect?" Ulrich asked angrily. "I'm five! You can't expect everything out of me!"

Mr. Stern's eyes narrowed. "That's what your mother says…"

"I hear you and mommy arguing about me at night. And I think mommy is right," Ulrich said.

"Yes, well mommy didn't have to educate herself, or grow up in a poor house, or claw her way up the ladder. Mommy doesn't know what it means to have to work her way up. And I want to make sure that you don't waste. You need to work now so you can live better tomorrow. And to answer your question, son, you need to be as close to perfect as any mortal can get, and you need to stay there forever."

After that little chat, Ulrich Junior was never close with his father. In fact, as Ulrich entered school, the rift between the Ulrichs got even wider, as Ulrich was pressured to do as good as possible in sports and academics. By the time Ulrich had entered first grade, he was even more antisocial then before as he focused every bit of his attention on his work and his soccer. He had the highest grades in the class and was better at soccer than the fifth graders, but he had literally no friends. And this was the topic of one of Mr. and Mrs. Stern's nighttime arguments.

"I'm worried about Ulrich. He's so… antisocial," said Bridgette.

"He doesn't need to socialize and yap away his education," said Mr. Stern. "He's doing absolutely fine."

"Is he? I never hear you tell him so," said Mrs. Stern.

"He should get all the satisfaction he needs from knowing he is doing the best he can. That's the way I was raised," said Mr. Stern.

"Yes, Ulrich, but have you considered that your son _isn't _you? You share a name, yes, but Ulrich isn't growing up in a disadvantaged household. I thought you worked as hard as you did so your son _wouldn't _have to. Think about it, Ulrich, was your childhood happy?" Mrs. Stern said as she changed into her nightgown.

"No, it wasn't a happy childhood. But he has his soccer, I'm sure he's just fine. And I am pushing Ulrich hard so he-" began Ulrich Senior.

"Reaches the top, yes, you have said this several times. But have you paid attention to your son at all recently? He has no friends, he never smiles, and he never plays soccer unless he _has _to. You've sucked all the fun out of something he used to _love_! Don't you get it? He's not pushing himself to 'reach the top', he's pushing himself so that you'll be happy with him for once and he can go back to being a normal child!" Mrs. Stern said. "I am absolutely _sick_ of watching you ruin our son's life, Ulrich!"

"I am not ruining our son's life! I am making sure _he _doesn't ruin it! And I think that trying to make me proud is a fine motivation," said Mr. Stern.

"All you see in Ulrich is… is… I don't know what your skewed mind sees. But you are treating him like some mindless zombie instead of a little boy! I… I can't stand it anymore. I want a divorce," said Mrs. Stern, crossing her arms and turning her back to Ulrich Senior.

"No!" Ulrich Junior shouted from behind the bedroom door.

Mr. and Mrs. Stern both turned. Ulrich had been standing by the cracked-open door the whole time. He walked into the room and said again "No! Don't get a divorce!"

"You… should be in bed," Ulrich Senior said.

Mrs. Stern glared at her husband. "You just don't get it." She walked over to her son, kneeled down, and gave him a big hug. "Oh, Ulrich, you poor thing. I'm so sorry you had to hear all that," she said.

"Don't get a divorce," Ulrich said. "Because if you do… I won't have you around to make it better when Dad does something."

Mr. Stern almost blew a gasket. "Go to bed," he managed to say.

Mrs. Stern looked at her husband, tears rolling down her face. "You… you are disgusting. You don't even know _how _to be a father, do you? I am not going to divorce you, Ulrich Jonas Stern, Senior, and this is why. No matter _how unhappy _I get, no matter if you have any number of affairs, I am _never _going to leave this marriage until _death _do us part, because if I leave, Ulrich is _never _going to have any happiness in his life. As God as my witness, Ulrich, I will be there at every turn, at every move you make, to reverse it should you put our son on track to a horrible life. I _will not _let you ruin our son's life."

Ulrich Senior let up a little bit on his son after that night. Though he was still expected to get the highest grades and do the best in sports, he was allowed to go about it with his own methods instead of his father's methods, and that seemed to help. He even made a few friends. However, there was one person he knew that he wished would simply go away- Sissi Delmas.

They had met the year before, on their first day of kindergarten. Sissi had dressed up very nicely for her first day. Ulrich was the first to talk to her. "Hi! I'm Ulrich Stern. I like your hair." Sissi giggled, and then she had punched him in the face. Ulrich burst into tears and Sissi had to sit in the corner. From that point onwards, Ulrich Stern, Jr. did not want anything to do with Elisabeth Delmas.

However, she simply would not leave him alone. And now that he was star soccer player, and beginning to socialize with people, Sissi demanded to be a part of his inner circle of friends. Ulrich wouldn't have it. He was a little too polite to outright tell her to go away, but he wasn't beyond such tricks as having to use the bathroom every time Sissi was around- the one place no girl could ever go.

A few years passed, and the Ulrichs seemed to have finally reached some sort of unofficial agreement with each other. Ulrich Junior would do the best he could, but Ulrich Senior wouldn't push him beyond his limits. Though they rarely actually spoke to one another, they had a good system worked out. And Mrs. Stern was happy that her son was finally happy, which was what she had wanted all along. However, she herself wasn't very happy.

She, by her own will, was stuck in a marriage that she no longer wanted. She had become the kind of mother who always had to do some kind of housework. She was always cooking or always cleaning or always doing something in the house to distract herself. She eventually left her job to be a homemaker, and devoted herself to her house. She wasn't happy unless there was some kind of menial housework to do, because it was something that she could do that she knew her husband would never even attempt. The upside was that the Sterns had the cleanest house in the neighborhood, and there was always a very good meal on the table, but the downside was that she had become very stressed.

There came a day, when Ulrich was in the third grade, when there was no housework to be done. For possibly the first time in human history, there was a house that was literally clean _everywhere_. There was absolutely nothing to clean, nothing to wash, nothing to rearrange. And it happened to be the day that no one was hungry. Mrs. Stern had _nothing _to do. So, needless to say, she was a little… on edge.

"Ulrich! How was the game today? Did you win? What was the score? Tell me all about it, a play-by-play. And how was school? Did you eat a good lunch? Are you still hungry? I'll make you something," she said.

"Er, no mom, I'm good. We won, it was five to three I think. And I didn't really pay much attention to all the plays," Ulrich said with a chuckle.

"And how's that little girlfriend of yours? How is she? Is she doing good?" Mrs. Stern was talking rather fast. Mr. Stern instantly looked away from the television in the other room at the mention of "girlfriend".

Ulrich grimaced. "Who, Sissi? Yuck, no way. I can't stand her, she's so annoying."

"Good," said Mr. Stern. "You don't need a girlfriend. Girls are trouble."

Mrs. Stern, who was vigorously scrubbing a clean plate, turned towards her husband. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I was just telling the boy that girls can distract you from the bigger picture," explained Mr. Stern.

"So is that what I am, Ulrich? A distraction? I've tried so hard to make this work and to you I'm nothing but a _distraction_?"

Mr. Stern walked over to his wife, his face six inches away from hers. "Listen here, Bridgette. You need to calm down. I'm tired of having to deal with a crazy woman. Although the house does look nice, I think you need to settle."

"Settle? What, am I too _wild _for you? Because I don't bow to you and kiss the ground you walk on and don't wear skimpy little outfits like your secretary, I need to _settle_?" Mrs. Stern said, speaking quickly, and her voice high pitched.

"Are you calling me… unfaithful? You shut up," said Mr. Stern, and he slapped his wife on the face. And in that moment, the agreement between the two Ulrichs was completely destroyed.

"You hit her! You _hit _mom!" Ulrich shouted. "You disgusting… you… you…" Ulrich was too enraged to even speak. "I am ashamed to share a name with you," he said, going to his bedroom.

From that moment onward, Ulrich hated his father. For three years, his hatred of his father grew and grew. And at the same time, he pushed himself and pushed himself to do what his father wanted of him, so perhaps his father would leave him alone. He again slipped into an antisocial state and made few more friends, and lost most of the ones he had. He even managed to almost lose Sissi.

He was brooding on the bench in the park at Kadic, which had been "his place" since he had started there that year, and Sissi walked up. "Ulrich! Hello!" She shouted, waving. "Ulrich sweetie! I… found these flowers lying around, and I thought you'd like them! Bring some color to all that green you wear."

Ulrich sneezed a few times, his eyes watering. "Get those things away from me! I'm allergic! My gosh, can't you _leave me alone_! You are _the_ most annoying person I have ever met! Your father isn't like this, so what the heck is wrong with your _mother_?"

Sissi dropped the flowers and burst into tears. "My m-mother is dead! B-but nothing was ever wrong w-with her!" She ran away, bawling.

All eyes were on Ulrich, who looked very surprised. All he managed to say was "Uh… sorry?" Sissi wasn't at school for the next week, but not because of what Ulrich had said- Sissi's brother had been killed by a car. However, something good happened during the week without Sissi. Her name was Yumi Ishiyama.

Ulrich really liked this Yumi girl. She had moved from Japan and didn't know a lot of English. Ulrich offered to teach her some. He wanted to get to know Yumi, and spend as much time with her as he could. However, Yumi was very shy, and so was Ulrich. It was a year until he managed to ask her to take Penack Silat classes with him.

And so, on October 9th, the two met in Kadic's gymnasium to take martial arts classes with Jim.

You know the rest of the story.


	8. Yumi Ishiyama

A/N: This is not written by me, it was written by the ever-so-awesome and wonderful Carth, of the Lyoko Freak forums. She is known here on as CarthageAroura. I had been struggling for months to get this project finished, and I needed a little bit of help. Carth, being the inredible person she is, won a contest, and thus her version of Yumi's story will forever be a part of _Ex Libris Lyoko_. Carth has my _profuse_ thanks for digging me out of the hole I dug myself into, and I certainly hope you enjoy her work.

I now present the eighth and final installment of _Ex Libris Lyoko_.

* * *

In the small, ancient island country known as Japan, the days before the New Year are a bit of a big deal, much more than they are in Western countries

In the small, ancient island country known as Japan, the days before the New Year are a bit of a big deal, much more than they are in Western countries. Around this time, hopeful Japanese from up and down the coast are making wishes and plans, or else daydreaming about what the coming year might bring them. However, for Ishiyama Takeo, a otherwise unremarkable businessman of Edogawa, Tokyo prefecture, the New Year's season of Heisei 3, or 1991, was a bit more important than it might have been otherwise.

This was because that New Year's Day just happened to be his wife's due date.

The birth was long and exhausting, even for Takeo, whose only job was to stand by the bedside, hold his wife's hand, and reassure her every so often that she was doing fine. It was a long, dull effort, and even though he was excited- it was his first child, after all- he found himself getting very, very tired. And thirsty. Very thirsty. After about sixteen hours of fruitless labor, he excused himself to get a drink, convinced that the birth wouldn't happen for another hour at the most.

He was horribly wrong. Just after he had gotten to the nearby vending machine, deposited 200 yen, and put the Coke can to his lips, loud voices erupted from his wife's room. Fearing the worst, he threw the can aside, raced down the hall, and ran into the room. It was just as he'd feared. The birth had been over in less than a minute, and he'd missed the whole thing. Various doctors he didn't know were weighing his newborn daughter on a nearby scale, other doctors he didn't know were congratulating him from all sides, and his wife, Akiko, looking alert even as she was recovering, was glaring at him angrily from the hospital bed.

It wasn't as joyous as it could have been.

Despite it all, however, the Ishiyamas' daughter was born perfectly healthy, which is a good thing to say for any baby. She was given the name "Ishiyama Yumi", meaning "hard mountain bow". Akiko liked the name because it was strong, powerful, and independent. Takeo liked the name because it was easy to write.

Apart from the usual difficulties that new parents find when first raising children, such as sleeping through the night, diaper changes, and constant visits from relatives, the Ishiyamas had relatively little difficulty with Yumi in her infancy. If anything, the two new parents were having worse conflicts within themselves. Though they loved each other, their marriage had been tense from the very beginning. At the root of it all was the fact that each of them had grown up in vastly different worlds- Akiko had come from a very traditional family in Hokkaido, while Takeo had spent most of his not-so-traditional life in the Tokyo city limits. Akiko had been the first girl in her family to go to college, where she had met Takeo, who wasted no time in educating her in the Tokyo lifestyle. However, none of it could change that their worldviews, philosophies, and upbringings were entirely different- a constant source of friction. Their fights were small but constant, and happened over every little thing, such as whose turn it was to change the baby, rock her to sleep, or persuade Grandma Miyuki that no, it was not a good idea to start looking for a husband for her at the moment. But, despite the spats, they worked well as a couple overall.

Yumi herself was about as happy as a little Japanese girl could be. Though the Ishiyamas were of a modest household and income, Yumi, in her childhood naïveté, didn't care about any of it. To her, everything was special, from the apartment they lived in, to the TV that her father often watched American wrestling on, to the small fruit markets that her mother often bought her cooking ingredients from. She attracted friends easily with her sunny, forthright personality, both at school and closer to home. Sure, she threw tantrums, but they were just as spirited as her moments of joy. Her parents were bemused as to where all the energy came from, but made no attempt to squash it. Even when her constant jumping began to annoy the downstairs neighbors. (They'd never liked those neighbors anyway.)

Around the time that Yumi was five, Akiko became pregnant again. Takeo went to get soused at the nearest bar when he heard the news, but Yumi was excited beyond comprehension. She was going to be an oneechan, a big sister! She couldn't stop thinking about it- or talking about it. She told everyone she met, even though, walking with her mother, they'd pretty much figured it out anyway. When the time came to take Akiko to the hospital, she could hardly sit still. She didn't come to the hospital, though. They doubted she could handle that.

It was a much easier birth than Yumi's had been. After only an hour or so, "Ishiyama Hiroki", meaning "hard mountain's prosperous tree", entered the world. (It's worth note that just after he was born, Takeo had to be taken to another part of the hospital to get his hand wrapped up. Akiko had been gripping it so hard, she'd twisted it out of its socket. He got the point.) Two days after he was born, he was taken home, where Yumi saw him for the first time. She was so happy, she didn't stop screaming for a full ten minutes. All day long, she kept trying to hold and see her new brother, ensuring that he got no sleep at all. And even then, in the rare moments that baby Hiroki did sleep, Yumi kept her parents awake with her dreams for the future, spoken aloud.

"I'm gonna teach Ha-oki-chan how to make bread rolls!" she'd say, while seated on the edge of her parents' bed. "And I'm going to take Ha-oki-chan to the park, and the school, and the temple, and the festival, and the dog statue, and I'm gonna- I'm gonna-"

However, barely a year later, news came to the Ishiyama household that would take their lives in a very different direction. The company that Takeo worked for, Takahashi Corporation, had recently opened up a new branch in Paris, France, nearly halfway across the world. Takeo was to be transferred to this branch, not only to fill up working spots there, but to open up new ones for Japanese workers locally. This didn't make Takeo too happy. But, he had only one other option, and that was forfeiting his job. So, reluctantly, the Ishiyamas packed their belongings, took Yumi and "Ha-oki-chan", then only a few months old, boarded a plane, and headed to France.

The family of four settled themselves in Bolougne-Billancourt, a small town near Paris. They stayed with a family friend, another man who had been transferred, until they were able to find and buy a house elsewhere in the city. Within a month, they had one- its previous owner had died, and its heir hadn't wanted it, so they were able to buy it at a low price.

Both Takeo and Akiko, while they wanted to stay close to their Japanese roots, didn't want to end up as "idiot foreigners". So, they made an effort to learn as much French as possible. Both adults, whose lingual knowledge consisted only of English loanwords like "besubaru" and "number one", took classes in the language. Hiroki was taught French from the get-go, learning just enough Japanese to get the gist of it. While Yumi was legally able to attend school, there was no possible way she could learn anything from it, so the family decided to homeschool her until she could understand and speak French. All household conversations had as much French as possible. Yumi was a bit confused at first, but over time, she caught on, and learned quickly. Her accent was a bit thick, but she was understandable.

Finally, at the age of eight, the Ishiyamas decided that Yumi was ready to tackle French public school. They enrolled her in the nearest one. All summer, she could talk of nothing else, switching between French and Japanese whenever it was convenient for her emotions. When the big day came, September 1st, she got up early, dressed herself in her favorite dress, packed her own lunch, and stood by the door, waiting to go. For about two hours.

Unfortunately, things didn't go as well as she thought they would. Very few of the kids in the class had ever seen an Asian before, let alone one so ethnic as Yumi, and all of them were taken aback by her unusual appearance, accent, and habits. Nobody seemed to understand why she pronounced her l's like r's, ate rice for lunch instead of sandwiches, or seemed so uncomfortable wearing shoes in the classroom. They couldn't make sense of any of it. And, in the normal mob response to anything strange or different, they put it upon themselves to stomp her down as far as they could.

They imitated her accent and her habits. They'd stretch the skin around their eyes, calling it the "Yumi face". For a while, none of them wore shoes. Not a recess went by where someone didn't try to throw a rock at her, pull one of her pigtails, or crowd her into a corner, chanting, "You're retarded! You're retarded!" She didn't know what to make of it. Most recesses ended with her hiding beneath the slide, crying to herself. Either that, or she would stay inside during recess, helping to clean the classroom. She was quiet about the teasing to the teachers, and so they did nothing.

But one unfortunate day, the short, sweet little girl finally snapped.

It was a sunny day, around the beginning of June. One short, brown-haired boy from a lower grade had tried his luck with a double whammy- throwing two rocks at her at the same time. It had worked- one hit her in the back, and the other clipped her shoulder. He expected her to run away crying, like she usually did, but instead, she whirled around and punched him in the face. He fell to the ground, screaming, as she, also screaming, punched him again and again. She was terrified out of her wits as she did it, but at the same time, she felt like she had no other choice. Nine months of anger was pooling itself into her fists, and it all felt so good.

Beyond bruises, the kid wasn't seriously hurt. But, the episode did get her in a lot of trouble. Akiko and Takeo were shocked and embarrassed by her behavior, but, after hearing the complaints that she had been holding in for so long, decided that Yumi was having trouble meshing into her new home. At the insistence of family members back in the islands, Yumi was sent back to Japan that summer, where she would live with her grandparents, and go to a Japanese school.

At first, she was extremely happy with the arrangements, not only because she was back in Japan, but because she'd be with people who wouldn't think she was strange, and who'd be friends with her. Again, this didn't exactly work. Though she looked as Japanese as the next kid, it was almost impossible not to notice that there was a rift between her and her classmates. They knew that there was something different about her, something that had changed in the three years she had missed in Japan, but rather than aggravate it as the other kids had done, they simply chose to ignore it. They didn't throw rocks at her, but their avoidance and excuses hurt more than any object ever could. To them, she was a mistake, better brushed away. Barely any of them talked to her, and if they had to talk about her, they'd call her "gaijin-chan", foreigner girl.

Yumi was more mature at this point, and knew better than to lash out. Instead, she closed herself in, not talking to those who didn't talk to her. She found outlets for her anger in self-taught martial arts, but, though there were martial arts clubs at school, didn't share this with anyone. After all, no one asked.

Eventually all this, coupled with homesickness, led to her wanting to return to her family in Bolougne-Billancourt. When she was eleven, and had just finished the Japanese equivalent of elementary school, she left her grandparents' home and caught a plane back to Paris. Her family, who had missed her terribly, was ecstatic for her return- especially Hiroki, who had hardly ever seen his sister, save for summer vacations when she returned home. However, when she arrived at the front door, she was met with a pretty nasty shock. Hiroki, now five and happy to see her, bounded right up to her and greeted her with a rousing "Salut, Yumi! Es-tu heureuse être chez toi?"

Yumi, slightly bewildered, replied, "Yes, I'm happy to be home," in Japanese. Hiroki didn't answer. He just gave her a blank look.

As she later found out, he had begun kindergarten, and had already gotten himself a wide circle of friends. In fact, three of them were over that very day, talking and laughing without a care in the world. All told, it was a bit more then Yumi could take. She was a freak in her new home, and a "gaijin" in her old one. And here was Hiroki, a social butterfly, who didn't have to make any sort of effort at all to be liked. His accent was flawless- if it wasn't for his looks and obsession with giant toy robots, one could hardly tell he was Japanese. He was perfect. And she was a failure.

She didn't make any more effort to learn French, even though her parents and brother spoke it all the time. She spent much of her time cloistered in her room, reading or practicing her martial arts. She hardly ever spoke to Hiroki, and when she did, she was dark, almost bitter. It worried Hiroki, and aggravated their parents. Their fights, which had subsided, went on full force. It was a turbulent time in the Ishiyama household.

At summer's end, neither parent could take it anymore. Without telling Yumi, they enrolled her in the local junior high school, Kadic Academy, for her seventh grade year. Despite her protests- her experiences with school had been less than great- she was made to go anyway. She woke up late, and nearly dragged herself there the first day.

She wasn't ecstatic with Kadic, but, at the same time, she wasn't begging to leave. Though some of the kids there were the very same that had tortured her in the third grade, none of them resumed the abuse, or, indeed, paid any attention to her. Sure, she was different, but they'd grown past that. After all, people came from Kadic from around the world, a few of whom knew less French and had stranger customs than she did. That, and she had a feeling that none of them remembered her. After all, she'd only been there for one year.

Only one person in the whole school paid her any mind, and that was Ulrich Stern, a strange, brown-haired boy. She had the oddest feeling that he had a crush on her. He would discreetly follow her around, offering to teach her French, or answer questions about the school. Somehow, she never got around to telling him she knew enough French to get by. She acted aloof, and perhaps a bit naive, but deep down, she liked the attention. His attention, in turn, got her MORE attention from Sissi Delmas, the school's resident drama queen, who had a crush on Ulrich.

One day, seeing Yumi practicing martial arts by herself in the woods, Ulrich walked up to her and told her about a class that took place in the gym on Saturday nights in Penack Silat. Yumi was annoyed, yet mildly interested. She agreed to attend, and then turned away from him.

You know the rest of the story.

* * *

A/N: Well, there you have it. It has been exactly a year since I first began this little adventure, and I am finally done. I am not going back to edit the chapters, I wil not be adding any more backstories, I am _done_. I thank you, reader, for sticking with me the whole way, through the long waits and I again thank the AWESOME Carth for this AWESOME story.

P.S. Carth is awesome.


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